Best Served Cold
by Talye Kendrin
Summary: On the outside, Teela Thorne lived an ordinary life. However, thanks to her serial-killer uncle, she's not exactly ordinary. However, she is able to find solace in the fact that she's not the only oddball out there when she meets the man who would become known as the Ice Truck Killer. Eventual, twisted Brian/OC. Rating subject to change.
1. prologue

**prologue: **

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When you get right down to it, it's really not that hard to kill a person. I mean really, all you need is a combination of good timing and taking necessary precautions, and you can literally get away with murder.

Apologies. I should probably introduce myself. My name is Teela; Teela Thorne. Well, technically I should be Teela Driscoll, but my parents died when I was a baby. They were murdered, actually, but I don't like to think about that fact too much. It hits too close to home. Either way, my aunt and uncle-foster aunt and uncle, really, but they've been like what I imagine a real aunt and uncle would be like, if not even more devoted to raising me-took me in. In a heartbeat, as my Uncle Callum puts it.

Depending on the heartbeat, that's pretty damn fast, I'd say.

Anyhow. I digress.

I'm not like my uncle. He's the one who taught me to do what I do. Talk about family bonding, right? But seriously, I have mixed feelings about it.

Yes, I still have feelings, despite the fact that I don't have enough fingers and toes to count the number of people I've killed to date. I feel regret every time I kill. I feel pity for my victims. I have my own rules about who I should and shouldn't kill. But I need to kill. My uncle's teachings are so far engrained in me that it's like... a burning need. An uncontrollable impulse.

I need to kill. That doesn't mean I can't choose who is undeserving of my 'gift'.

I suppose I should explain why I refer to it as a gift.

Sit tight, dear reader; this might be a bumpy ride.

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**A/N: **Welcome to the story! I'm only on season four of _Dexter_ so far, but the bulk of this story will happen before and during the events of season one, anyway. I hope you enjoy the story. I will be updating on Sundays, so see you next week with another chapter! Please review and let me know what you think! :)


	2. devastation and reform

Welp, looks like I forgot to put a disclaimer last time, so here it is. Pay attention, folks, because it's the only time I'll put it in here.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, nor am I affiliated with, the Dexter franchise.

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**chapter one:** _devastation and reform_

The first time my uncle put a blade in my hand, I was only four years old. He told me we were going to go hunting; that he had set up some traps in the forest behind our country house, and we were going to check if we'd caught anything. I remember how innocent I had been when we'd set out from that house, unknowing of how quickly I was going to grow up from that point on. I don't know what I had expected to use the knife for. Perhaps cutting the rope I expected the traps to be made of in order to let the animals that my uncle had caught go.

We set out on foot, hiking for a few minutes until we came upon the first trap. We got 'lucky' with the very first one.

There was a red fox whining and snarling at us, and I remember being shocked when I saw the steel trap his paw was caught in, and how it looked like it had just about snapped his foot clean off. I remember it clearly because it was the first time I saw anything that gory. The blood had run down his paw and pooled on the forest floor beneath him. My uncle had turned to me, expectantly. I didn't know what in the world he expected from me until he told me,

"Put it out of its misery."

"Uncle Cal...?"

He put his hand on my head and stared straight into my eyes, and I saw the strange hint of emotion in his usually empty eyes. I didn't like the emotion I saw there, though.

"Kill it," he said, nodding to the knife still grasped in my hand.

I was so reluctant. I think I even cried. Eventually my uncle held my hand in his own and guided the blade, his large hand clamping the fox's muzzle shut so that it couldn't bite me as he lent me the strength to bury my blade deep in its throat. I was distraught as the red liquid splashed over me.

There was that tiny part of me, however. The part that felt... _powerful_.

And what scared me, more than the look in my uncle's eyes at the prospect of killing, more than the killing itself, was the fact that I liked the feeling I had briefly felt.

That was the first time I killed an animal, but it would not be the last.

And it would not be the worst thing I killed in my lifetime.

It wasn't long before the killing escalated. Over the next four years, my uncle escalated from making me kill rodents and small animals to taking me deer hunting. I didn't have quite the issue with deer hunting as I did with killing the smaller animals. At least with deer hunting, we would cure and eat the meat, whereas with the other animals all we would do was skin them and use their pelts for decoration or sell them. The skinning, I found, was usually the worst part. Over time, though, I grew used to it, the actions becoming second nature. I still felt the same disgust as I had initially, but to a much lesser extent.

Then things changed again.

"We're hunting something a little different today, Tee."

I only had to look into his steely gray eyes, not unlike my own, to see the sadistic pleasure there. The only difference I saw from the times we hunted animals was the degree of the look. It was so much more intense than I'd ever seen it before. It made me uncomfortable to look at, and I averted my eyes as I helped pack hunting knives and duct tape.

"What are we hunting this time, Uncle Cal?" I mumbled, keeping my tone of voice carefully casual. I wasn't sure I wanted to know the answer.

My uncle stretched leisurely, cracking his neck, then turned his head to look at me. My gaze caught his, and I found myself trapped in his piercing gaze, unable to look away. It reminded me of a bug pinned to a display board. The only difference was I was alive. And had less limbs. My uncle gave an amused smile.

"We're going to kill a bad man, Teela."

My blood ran cold. Killing a person? I knew my uncle was a sick person. Mentally sick. He needed psychiatric help. Even at the young age of eight, I realized by comparing my uncle to everyone else that he was different, and not necessarily in a good way. But taking his eight-year-old niece on a manhunt? It was one thing to make me hunt and kill animals, but I could feel the fear overtake me at the idea of killing another human. I shook my head emphatically.

"No," I breathed, dropping the knives I had been packing onto the work table I was standing next to and quickly moving towards the garage door, wanting to head back to the sanctuary of my aunt and uncle's house. He would never dare so much as mention hunting in the house, as he treated my Aunt Aria like a delicate princess, as though she would faint at the very mention of something that involved blood. Which, knowing my aunt, she actually might.

My uncle was in front of me before I'd even made it three steps. He grabbed me by the shoulders with bruising force, eyes fierce as I found myself caught in his gaze again. A deer in the mother-effing headlights.

"I don't recall saying you had a choice in the matter," he said quietly. I knew shit was about to go down when his voice got quiet. I bit the inside of my cheek, worrying it, my mind racing as I tried to think of some way to talk my way out of my current predicament. My uncle was the most intelligent man I knew, and one of the only ones I found my silver tongue turned to lead around. Uncle Cal stared at me for a moment that felt like forever before his lips curved upward. His eyes didn't join his lips in the smile. "Pack the knives." His voice brooked no room for dispute. His grip loosened, and he moved one hand to stroke his thumb along the side of my face. I didn't dare flinch, even though I didn't like the knowledge that a psychopath was touching me, especially now that I realized he had killed more than just animals with his hands. The last time I had flinched away from his touch, I had seen a side of him that was even more frightening than his usual self. "Don't worry. You won't have to do anything this time around. I just think it's time you watch and learn how it's done." He straightened, patting my head. "Maybe next time you can give the killing blow."

I didn't want to give the killing blow. The only thing I wanted to blow was with the wind, as far away from there as I could get.

I let him herd me into the black SUV as he stowed the rest of our supplies in the stow-and-go storage compartment. Out of sight is good, even when it's dark out. He climbed into the passenger seat and the vehicle started, the motor sounding deafening in the silent dark as we drove to an unknown-to me, at least-destination. I could feel my anxiety levels rising more with every stop and turn we made. By the time my uncle pulled the car to a stop in an unfamiliar driveway on a poorly-lit street in a rather rundown-looking neighborhood, I was a nervous wreck. I remember biting my nails so distractedly that the only thing that made me realize I was even doing it was when I bit into the skin next to my nail hard enough to draw blood.

My uncle paused in the middle of removing his seatbelt and half-turned to me, pinning me with his gaze.

"Stay here. I'll be right back with our...guest." He smiled a bit at that, genuinely this time. His genuine smile frightened me more than his usual fake smile. I nodded quickly, not wanting to upset him in his jittery, pre-kill state. He was always the most easy to upset when he was anticipating a kill, and I feared the more he was anticipating it, the more upset he would get if something didn't go according to plan. I didn't exactly want to end up as his victim instead of, or on top of, the poor shmuck he currently had in mind.

I kept my gaze fixed on my lap even as my uncle maneuvered the limp body of said poor shmuck into the middle row of seats of our SUV, staring determinedly at the fingernails I had bitten completely down to the quick. A terrible habit, really, I realized distantly as my uncle climbed back into the driver's seat once more, backing the SUV out and taking us to another, also unknown to me, location. I resisted the urge to study the face of the man sprawled on the seat behind me, acutely aware of the fact that my uncle was going to kill him in a matter of minutes. The horror of the situation, however, didn't fully hit me until we pulled up to an abandoned cabin a few minutes outside of town, and I entered it only to find everything covered, like one might do to protect the furniture while painting, except for the fact that the walls were covered, too.

The hair on my arms and the back of my neck stood on end as my uncle duct-taped the poor shmuck to the plastic-covered table in the middle of the room. He was smiling all the while, even going so far as to whistle a cheery tune while he set out the hunting knives he had brought with us. The sound combined with the situation sent chills down my spine. That may have been the point when I started crying. I forget, to be honest. I know I did at some point, though. My uncle selected a wickedly sharp knife with a curve to the blade, inspecting it before looking over at me. His content gaze quickly turned into a heated glare.

"Stop crying," he hissed. That just made the tears fall faster. "_Stop it_," he demanded. He never reacted well to me showing my emotions so openly. It made me wonder how he dealt so well with my openly-emotional aunt. Guess it was just because he obsessed over her so much that he learned to roll with it. Not so much with myself, unfortunately.

Uncle Cal snatched up my chin in one hand. It didn't help that he still had a grip on the hunting knife with his other hand. Thankfully for my well-being, the panic I felt at the sight of the knife threateningly close to my person stopped my tears in their tracks. He examined me for a moment, turning my head from one side to the other to confirm that I had stopped crying.

"...Good," he said at length. "Now...watch carefully, Teela. The magic is about to begin." His eyes lit back up with that sadistic glee, and I stood rooted to the spot as he took his position next to his intended victim's head, unable to look away.

"This man is a bad man," Uncle Cal said passively as he made several long, shallow cuts along the man's limbs and torso, almost as though he were making lazy brush strokes along a flesh-colored canvas. He cut off the man's undershirt, leaving him in nothing else but his socks and boxers. "He beat his wife for years until she finally hung herself. Now he's started robbing people in back alleys. He even shot one person in the stomach. They almost didn't survive the surgery to take the bullet out."

I listened attentively to what my uncle was saying as he toiled, and I forced myself to think of the man he was slicing into as nothing more than one of the animals we had hunted so often. It was surprisingly easy, with the knowledge that he was a bad man. The point of view made it easier for me to keep my supper from coming back up when my uncle began carving deeply into the man's face, peeling the skin back, exposing the muscles that lay beneath the flesh. It scared me how easily I was able to shut off the rational emotions that I should be feeling as I watched my uncle cut up another human. No disgust, no anger or fear towards my uncle for what he was doing. The only fear I felt was towards my own ability to shut down so well. The only other thing I felt was... curiosity. Before I knew it, I was stepping closer to get a better look at my uncle's work, almost as if I was in a trance. My uncle glanced at me momentarily with an amused smile playing on his lips.

"I see you've come out of your shell," he commented airily. "Good." He beckoned me closer yet, and I complied. He pointed to one of the muscles he had revealed in the man's cheek. "See this here? This muscle is called the masseter." He paused, then grinned. "I know. Let's _learn_ while Uncle Cal works, shall we, sweetie?" He proceeded to peel back more skin and name other muscles as we went. I doubted I would be able to remember many, if any at all, by the time we were done, but it kept my mind occupied, and it made my uncle happy to be able to 'teach me' while doing something that he enjoyed. I tried not to think about the fact that it was something sick and twisted that he enjoyed. I knew my uncle was sick. I didn't want to accept that the fact that I was actually semi-enjoying this time with him meant I must be sick in the same way as he was.

When we were done, I waited in the car as my uncle disposed of the evidence that anything out of the ordinary had taken place in the abandoned cabin. It all came crashing down on me then as I stared out the window into the pitch black night-the guilt, the fear, the anger, the disgust. It was like a tidal wave of emotion crashed over me all at once, and I found myself crying so hard I was hiccupping. I fought to control myself, knowing that if my uncle found me like that he would get angry all over again. It was a good few minutes before I was able to stop the tears, and when they stopped, I slumped back into my seat, exhausted from the emotional outburst and the whole ordeal I had gone through that night.

It was a relief, I realized, to be able to feel things so strongly after thinking for a moment in that cabin that I had rid myself of all emotion forever.

I never wanted to become like my uncle. Being able to feel was exhausting. But it also made me feel _alive_.

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**A/N:** I love and appreciate it when people read, follow, and favorite my work. But I love it even more when they review! (Hint, hint)

See y'all next Sunday! I'm starting back to college this week though, so after next week's update I'll likely drop down to monthly updates rather than weekly.


	3. minds without fear

**chapter two: **_minds without fear_

"You're on your own this time, kiddo. I'm only here to observe."

Disgusting. Twelve years old and being made to kill a man with my own two hands. Oh sure, I could have refused to go along with it at any point, either then or when I was playing assistant to my uncle during one of the many kills he'd taken me on in the past four years, but fear is a powerful motivator. And after seeing what my Uncle Cal was truly capable of, I feared him above everyone else; even the law.

I nodded to my uncle, organizing and stowing all the necessary tools away in the SUV under my uncle's watchful eye. I could feel myself slipping back into the familiar emotionless persona I fell into every time I participated in a hunt. And at the same time my emotionlessness scared me, I felt... _excited._ I could feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins as we pulled out, heading to our destination. I could picture my intended victim's face in my mind, as I'd memorized how he looked from the photos I'd found of him on his facebook profile. Thank God for idiots who don't know to change their privacy settings.

It felt like forever, but in reality it was only a few minutes before we pulled up into the driveway at our intended destination. I quickly pulled the stack of papers I had brought along from the dash of the car, and brushed my fingers over the side braid I had carefully woven my hair into to ensure it was still intact. I grabbed a pair of empty glasses frames and perched them on my nose, completing the look that my middle school uniform created. I slid out of my seat and practically skipped over to the door of the house, rubbing my eyes and staring at the door unblinkingly as I rang the doorbell, waiting for the sole occupant of the house to answer death's call. I wasn't quite disciplined to the point where I could cry on demand, but at least if I made my eyes red, it would look like I had been crying in the last few minutes.

The sound of footsteps approaching the door seemed to echo the pounding of my heart. I started to turn away when the door swung open, revealing a middle-aged man with a moustache and a touch of grey in his dark hair. He looked to already be in his sleep clothes for the night. I attempted the subtlest lip quiver, and felt success when I saw the look on the man's face. Pity, sadness, and the faintest hint of arousal that would have been invisible to someone who hadn't been looking for it. I stared down at the step I was standing on, scuffing my foot on it a bit and acting abashed.

"Sorry to bother you so late," I asked. It was only nine o'clock at night, but I knew normal parents wouldn't usually let a twelve-year-old girl out by herself this late, let alone let her go up to strangers' houses when it was already dark out. I quickly grabbed one of the papers I clutched in my hand and held it out for him to see. "Have you seen my dog? She ran away and I can't find her!" I put on my best distraught look, waiting for him to buy it or see it as an opening.

He glanced at the picture, then back at me. I could see the yearning in his eyes, despite how he was trying to hide it. It probably worked on all the non-predators. Too bad for him I wasn't raised to be a sheep. "Where's your mom and dad, kid?" Ah. Asking all the important questions, I see. Trying to find out if he'll be suspected if I go missing, if someone knows I'm here.

I sniffed, looking down so my bangs shadowed my eyes and he wouldn't see that even though I rubbed my eyes, I wasn't actually crying. I tried to make my voice sound shaky with emotion. "My dad went to the police station to see if somebody saw her or something. He told me to wait for him, but I just wanna find her. She's my best friend!" Take the bait. Take the bait. Just fucking take the bait.

"Hey, hey. It's gonna be okay," he said, putting his hand on my head. I didn't dare look up now that he thought I was crying. He'd notice something was off. He was a sharp one. "In fact, I think I might have seen her earlier. Why don't you come in for a second, you look like you could use a drink. I'll take you to the spot where I saw her after."

I hugged him around the waist. "Oh, thank you, mister!" Most uncomfortable thing I've ever done. Ugh. Even the thought of touching him disgusted me. I had to let him think he'd caught me, though. I had to let him think he was the one in control. It was crucial to my plan.

He chuckled, drawing me inside. He must have felt like the spider luring the fly into its web. I suppressed the smirk that threatened to blow my cover as he closed the door behind me.

"Here, I'll get you that glass of water," he said, grabbing a glass from the drying rack. He hesitated with it for too long, acting like he was wiping off the condensation, but I could tell he was adding something to the glass before pouring the water into it. I used the sound of the rushing water from the tap to cover my quiet footsteps as I approached him from behind. "So, how long have you had your dog?"

I drew out the needle I had tucked in my sweater pocket and jabbed it into his thigh, depressing the plunger quickly. The rush of powerful sedative hit him before he could react to the unexpected sensation, and the glass clattered into the sink as he sank to the ground. I jumped out of the way as he slumped backwards, heart racing. I cursed under my breath. Too close. I could have been trapped under about two hundred pounds of disgusting pedophile. Too close. I could have been trapped under about two hundred pounds of disgusting pedophile. Too close. I took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, and took the handheld radio out of my purse.

"All clear," I stated, slipping the radio back into the bag and fishing out a couple zip ties to tie his hands and feet together with.

_"Ten-four. Be right there."_

My uncle's near-silent steps sounded behind me moments later, as I was standing back to critique my work. He nodded at me, eyeing the prone form approvingly, before slinging the man over his shoulder. I had to admit, I was kind of impressed with my uncle's work. He might have been a psychopath, but he was certainly able-bodied. He kind of had to be in order to move his victims. I hoped to one day be as strong as him.

I could feel the emotions lurking at the edge of my consciousness as I stood over the man's slowly-rousing form in our pre-prepared studio. I call it a studio, because when you took out the emotion that the idea of killing another person arouses in a normal person, killing a person-particularly in the long, drawn-out way that my uncle had taught me to do-was like...an art form. It was like self-expression in its cruellest, most base form. The way I drew my knife down the man's limbs, my cuts angular, jagged, twisting; meant to inflict the most pain possible. The way I slowly dug under his nails until, one by one, I had pried them all from both his hands and feet, feeling the same sort of twisted pleasure from his screams and cries for mercy as I had witnessed in my uncle so often before. However, I knew that my feelings were vindicated because of the lack of innocence my victim held. Had he been an innocent, I knew that it would've been hard for me to remain in my emotionless persona. However, since he was not, I found myself...rather _enjoying_ it, to tell the truth. I whistled as I worked, the contrast of my cheerful notes against my victim's tortured screams not going unappreciated by my uncle, as I could see him grinning out of the corner of my eye. Ever watchful, my dark mentor guided my movements without even having to tell me what to do.

He commanded my obedience, as he commanded my fear and respect.

I soon began to grow tired. _Too soon,_ the sadistic part of me whispered. It told me that I should push aside the fatigue and keep going. However, I could feel an odd sensation at the back of my mind, and I knew immediately what it was. My mind was growing tired of protecting me with this persona that I had adopted. It was tired of keeping up the mental blocks that kept my emotions at bay. I dragged the flat of my blade along the pedophile's neck, watching him try to silently shrink away from it in his bindings, having screamed himself hoarse. I paused, watching his adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed, nervously trying to glance down at the blade in my hand. I gave him an amused look, then slowly smiled.

I plunged the blade into his neck.

The blood poured over his prone form; over the plastic-wrapped table; over the floor. It was a thing of beauty. _No it's not,_ my rational side whispered, already starting to creep back in. I glared venomously at nothing in particular as I tried to force myself to stay in my homicidal persona. If there was one thing I absolutely didn't need at the moment, it was to be suddenly overtaken by my emotions. I needed to wait. Just a few more minutes.

The sound of clapping startled me out of my thoughts, and I whirled, finding my uncle standing there with this sickly proud look on his face. He stepped towards me, taking my face between his hands as he beamed at me. He stroked my cheek with his thumb.

"You were wonderful, Tee," he said, and he kissed me on the forehead. It wasn't until his lips came away bloody that I realized how much blood had gotten on me. I didn't dare wipe it away yet for fear of angering my uncle. He might think it was out of shame, and I couldn't afford to feel shame until I was away from his presence. He brushed my hair back from my face, and I could feel the warm sticky substance against my scalp, as well.

"Thank you, uncle," I said, drawing back into myself and making my face devoid of emotion once again. He laughed.

"My dear... I do believe you're ready to hunt on your own now." His grin was manic. "I look forward to the trophies you'll bring home when you do."

He would know if I didn't hunt.

Like that, my fate was sealed.

The roof was my sanctuary.

No one ever entered the attic except on the rare occasion that they felt we could fit just one more box of useless shit into the already-crammed-full storage space. It was like a maze just trying to make my way towards the single window leading out onto the roof. A maze that I had run so many times, though, that it felt like it came almost second-nature to me to climb and squeeze my way through the rubbish to the small square pane that led to the one place I could find solitude in my literally psychotic life.

Thirteen years old now.

My uncle gave me an axe for my birthday. Part of a recurring theme, by now.

I had used his axe that night. Well, my axe. I just didn't like to think of it as "mine" when I was in a reasonable state of mind. Acknowledging that it was mine, that I had claimed it as such, felt like it would change everything. Like all of a sudden I would be the killer that my uncle kept pushing me to be. Yes, I killed. But I only did so for survival. If I didn't kill, I had no doubt that my uncle would grow weary of my existence and put me down like a dog that could no longer please its master. Thinking of the weapons my uncle had given me as "mine" outside of my assumed persona when I was hunting was like...acknowledging my persona's existence.

I didn't _want_ to acknowledge its existence.

If I acknowledged it, it would be real. Solid. Tangible. I couldn't afford to do that. When I got out of this lifestyle-because at that point I still believed that I would be able to get-I had to have plausible deniability. Big, fancy words. But they were important. I needed them in order to be able to live a free life once I turned my uncle in. Tell the cops what he did to me, convince them to put me into protective custody, become some nameless person on a beach somewhere on the other side of the country, protected by strong policemen so my uncle could never kill me even if he found me.

Wishful thinking. But hey, a girl can dream.

I saw the shine of headlights coming down the gravel road, and I quickly scrambled off the roof and into the attic, shutting and locking the window before picking my way back to the ladder leading down to the spare bedroom. I all but ran back to my room, sitting down where I had strategically left my homework open to where I had left off, with only two questions left. I always did most of it at school during breaks so that I could have homework as an alibi for when I went up to the roof while my uncle was out. That way, he could never think I was doing something suspicious during my "free time". I had just scribbled down the answer to one of the questions when my door creaked open. My uncle was never really one for privacy. Well, _my_ privacy, anyways. He still had plenty of his own to spare. He stepped up behind me and mussed my hair, and I didn't even bother trying to swat it away; it usually made him angry. Most things did, especially recently. He never told me why, but I had figured out from snooping (a dangerous pastime of mine, but one I couldn't help but partake in) in his office that the police were investigating some of his most recent murders.

"Almost done your homework, nugget?"

He had this thing for calling me nugget. I don't know if he was referring to gold or chicken. My bet's on chicken, though. He always had a thing for insulting people without actually saying an insult.

"Only one question left," I muttered, working out the long division. Ugh...math. Definitely beats killing people, though.

His hand suddenly felt as though it had grown tighter on my head. I kept writing, though. Whenever he saw how affected I was by him, it had a tendency to get worse.

"Say, Tee," he said in an airy voice, "when abouts do you think you'll be going hunting again?"

I fumbled in my writing, but quickly recovered, writing the answer down and circling it. I set the pencil down and folded my hands in my lap.

"I have one planned for tomorrow, uncle," I said in a fakely sweet tone. "Would you like to come help?" It always got him to back down.

"Hmm...tempting, but no. I have golf with Raoul tomorrow." His grip loosened, and he patted my head twice before removing his hand completely. I resisted the urge to sigh in relief. "Have a good night, sweetheart."

I echoed his sentiments in a forced calm voice, gripping bunches of the edge of my shirt under the desk where he couldn't see; wondering when in the seven hells I would escape this so-called life.

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**A/N:** Hate to do this to you itty bitty readers, but this is going down to being updated once a month due to college. Ughh. But it will be updated the first Sunday of every month. :) Hopefully I'll be able to get ahead of my writing when Christmas break rolls around so I can do some weekly updates again after that.

Ciao! Don't forget to review, lovelies!


	4. the great mistake

**chapter three:** _the great mistake_

"I'll see you later, Tee. I gotta run," my best friend, Jaime Beaumont said, grabbing me in a quick hug before jogging off to her car on the far side of the mall parking lot. I waved at her shrinking figure with a smile, letting both my smile and my hand drop the moment she was out of sight. It was graduating year. College was coming up fast, and it was getting harder and harder to keep up my facade of normality while still having a friend as close as Jaime. I had her completely fooled; she didn't suspect a thing. I didn't want it to be that way, though. It was getting harder and harder to keep myself from spilling everything, and although she and I had talked of trying to get into the same colleges, had even filled out and sent away the applications together, I knew I would never be able to stay with her and keep my secret at the same time, so I had secretly sent away an application of my own.

The Paralegal Studies program at Miami Dade College.

I amused myself with the irony of my choice in studies. It was fairly suitable, though, I thought, because I already knew a fair bit about law (and moreso, how to evade it) due to my uncle's teachings. I could use something somewhat familiar, I felt, as I was going to the opposite side of the country from where I was. All the way from mild-weathered Flagstaff, Arizona, to hot and humid Miami, Florida. I looked forward to moving to a bigger center, though. After all, besides the fact that there would be over two thousand miles of road between me and my uncle's watchful eye, there was just something about the anonymity that came from living in such a big city that appealed to me.

A fresh start-a clean slate, as it were.

It was nice to think about the promises that my not-so-distant future held. Nice to get my mind off of the perpetual thoughts of violence that my uncle had engrained in me for fourteen years now. I exhaled slowly at that thought, rubbing my forehead at the feeling of an impending headache and turning to start the walk home, realizing I had been standing in the same spot Jaime had left me in, lost in thought. Had it really been fourteen years already since the first time I held a knife in my hand for the sole purpose of killing? Granted, it may not have been a person I was killing until six years ago, but at four years old, even killing an animal was enough to mess me up for good. I had always been an animal person anyway, even as a kid. I just seemed to understand them better than people. I think I had been angrier at my uncle when he made me kill animals than I was when he made me kill people.

Like I said, I was really messed up. Not that I felt I could change that though. Until I got away from my uncle for college, anyway.

I worried the inside of my cheek as I walked, still deep in thought about Miami and how I could possibly do a bait-and-switch to make my uncle think I was enrolling into classes at someplace other than Miami. I couldn't do it in any legal way, that much was for sure, or else he'd be able to find me in a matter of minutes. The internet was handy sometimes, but at other times, I felt like it was more of a physical net than an informational one. I stuck my hands deep in my jacket pockets, running my thumb along the outline of the butterfly knife in my right pocket. I could enrol in one place with my real name, put a first month's payment on an apartment, while simultaneously enrolling at Miami Dade under a false name and creating an alias there to live under...

A hand landed roughly on my shoulder. Having been so deep in thought, I acted out of pure instinct, flipping out the butterfly knife and stabbing behind me to where my attacker's stomach should have been given the angle of their arm. I whipped around to aim a slice at their neck, my arm already in mid-swing when my brain belatedly recognized the person standing in front of me.

It was Russell Garrity, Jaime's recent ex-boyfriend.

My eyes widened in surprise, my breath hitched in panic, as I watched him stumble back, eyes wide like mine, clutching at the clean slice in his neck, trying to keep himself from bleeding out. Needless to say, due to my proficiency, he failed miserably. Not two seconds later, he was on the ground. I quickly hopped back, keeping out of the blood pool. I inspected myself quickly. Even in the dark, my instincts were impeccable. The arterial blood spray had been directed away from me. I grimaced as I came to a realization.

I would have to tell my uncle about this.

I could feel the emotions. This hadn't been a pre-meditated murder. It was not done in cold blood; it was done out of instinctual self-preservation. I regretted it, I loathed myself, and I felt like throwing up all at the same time. It was...overwhelming, to say the least. Usually I had time to deal with the fact that I had killed someone before I was bombarded with emotions like this. Usually, I knew what I was getting into before it happened. This time, I had no time to mentally prepare myself.

This time, it was also someone that I knew.

I quickly inspected myself, finding that a few drops of blood had gotten on my shirt and jacket. I fumbled to do up the snaps on my jacket, seeing as the red splotches stood out against the white material of my shirt, but not so much on my black jacket. I tucked the knife in the hidden zipper pocket inside my jacket, not wanting to risk being seen with it, or risk it falling out of my other, non-zippered pockets. I restrained the urge to run, instead walking briskly down a less traveled road, knowing that if someone were to see me by chance that they would find it a lot more suspicious if I was running. I wasn't one of the known joggers in town, and one of the downsides to living in a smaller city was that everyone in the neighborhood knew everyone's schedules and hobbies pretty well, especially the old biddies that had nothing better to do but watch out their windows. I let out a string of expletives through clenched teeth, my hands forming fists in my pockets.

This murder would not go unnoticed by the police.

* * *

"What were you _thinking?_" My uncle roared, his face appearing a shade somewhere between fluorescent pink and dark purple. It would have been almost comical if it weren't for the fact that I honestly feared for my life with how angry he was. He was pacing so violently that I had the distant thought that he might wear a hole through the cement of the detached garage. Couldn't have my dear aunt hearing us discuss murder, after all. "No, wait, don't answer that," he said, backing off a bit, his face changing to a solid red. "You _weren't_. And I know you know better than this. Even if you don't get caught, and that is a _very big if_, you are drawing attention on not only yourself, but this _entire family!_" He took a deep breath and drew himself up tall, stopping in front of me and staring straight into my eyes.

I didn't even see his hand move before my cheek exploded in pain. I didn't have time to cry out before he had my chin in a vice grip, his face inches from mine.

"Do you know what you're going to do?"

I hesitated before realizing I risked angering him if I didn't answer, even if it was a rhetorical question. He was going to tell me what to do anyway. I shook my head infinitesimally. He let go of my chin and stood back, clasping his hands behind his back as he stared down at me like a disgusting bug beneath his shoe.

"You are going to continue on like nothing happened. Act sad, but not too sad. After all, you weren't that close to him, only vicariously through your...friend," he said, as though the word left a bad taste in his mouth. He never liked the idea of my having friends. The only reason he let me keep any was because it would appear suspicious to outsiders if I didn't have any. "You'll cooperate with the police. Tell them you took a different route home. Keep up the act for a few more weeks until you graduate, then pick whichever university accepted you that's the farthest away from here. Maybe that one in Miami." Great. At least I knew there was nothing sacred when it came to my private things. He didn't have to know that I'd already decided on Miami, though. This way I could let him think that it was all his own brilliant plan. That should serve to keep him off my back, at least for a while. He narrowed his eyes at me. "Nod if you understand, girl."

I nodded. He gave a swift nod of approval in return.

That was that, then.

I killed one of my classmates that would have graduated in six weeks, and now I had to suffer the torment of guilt and suspicion, all the while merely hoping that no one would put all the pieces together.

* * *

I sat, uncomfortably warm on the bottom half from the voluminous tulle skirt of my dress, but not warm enough on top due to the fact that I hadn't thought to bring a shawl to wrap around my bare arms. Apparently spaghetti straps didn't do anything to keep you warm, not that I'd realized what the temperature was going to be like in the hall that had been rented for my class's graduation ceremony. I sat, only half-listening, through the speeches being given, watching as the class valedictorian who had beaten my average by point-two of a percent took the mic, carefully keeping my expression neutral, though I really wanted nothing more than to wring his neck. That should have been _my _place. A shiver ran down my spine, and I realized that these thoughts were dangerous. When had I started to feel such urges outside of my allotted hunting time? I shot a quick glance to my table, where my aunt and uncle sat, along with my grandmother who had flown down from South Dakota to witness my graduation. I gave them a half-smile, though it was aimed entirely at my aunt and grandmother, and only the blank look in my eyes was reserved for my uncle. I felt the muscle in my jaw jump when the emcee called for a moment of silence for our dead classmate, but managed to keep my hands from clenching in my skirt as I respectively bowed my head, mindful to keep a respectfully solemn expression on my face.

Although I had gone through a fair amount of interrogation from the police due to the fact that I had been witnessed out in the town at about the same time as Russell's murder, thankfully they hadn't been able to pin down any evidence as thanks to my extracurricular metalwork courses, I had been able to melt my butterfly knife down and remake it into a vase. Hey presto, murder weapon gone. And of course, the clothes I had been wearing the night of had been burned in the barbecue pit in the backyard. Living outside of town was nice when it came to disposing of things you didn't want people knowing you owned. However, I never wanted to be in such a situation where that was required ever again.

It seemed like an age before the ceremonies were done, and I slipped out of the cool building into the cooler night at the first possible moment, thoroughly exhausted from the social anxiety that I always felt when I was the focal point of so many people's interest. Having been the second highest scoring person in the class (damn that so-called 'genius' boy who beat me to hell), I had been the recipient of a fair number of bursaries and grants, graduating with honors. It aggravated me that so many people wanted to talk to me about it, though. I would have much preferred if people sent me a card that I would read once, acknowledge that they were thinking of me, and then throw the card in the trash. It's a little harder to listen to people talk when you don't care, because you can't just acknowledge that they were thinking of you, then throw them in the trash.

Well, you could. But in that case you would probably have to kill them first, and despite that it didn't bother me quite as much as it used to when I first started, it still bothered me. And it bothered me more that I was getting _used_ to it. Going through the motions, picking out a person to kill and setting it up hardly phased me anymore, I just didn't like having to actually _do_ the deed. Because whenever I did, I slipped into that protective state, that sadistic persona that I had to live with knowing lurked in the depths of my mind.

Rubbing my arms to try and boost the circulation to my chilled limbs, I quickly headed to my car, unlocking the driver's side door and sliding in, tossing my diploma and grants in the passenger seat and tucking my voluminous skirt into the car before closing the door with a slam. I slid my key into the ignition and felt myself relax as the engine rumbled to life. I felt bad, but I was not going to wait around in order to say goodbye to my aunt and grandma. I was headed to Miami. Tonight.

Hello, new life.

* * *

**A/N:** Here, have the chapter a day early, just for those of you who have been reading and adding this story to your watch list. ;) (In other words I just finished the chapter today and want to crank it out le now.) Also, good news... next chapter we will get out first glimpse of Rudy/Brian!

Stay tuned for the next chapter! Updates are still on the first Sunday of the month, even though technically today's is on Saturday.


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